


Just A Bit Longer

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Birth, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Omega Verse, graphic depiction of birth, stretch marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So what do you say?” John said, propping himself up a little and waggling his eyebrows. <br/>“Oh, fine,” Sherlock groaned. “Go ahead, if you must. I still don’t see the appeal, myself, but the least I can do is lie back and think of England while you get off to my stretch marks.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a birthday present for my friend doctorkatelyn :) 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! I post fic updates and answer questions when people send them to me. annabagnell.tumblr.com

Sherlock smiled a little as he ran the washcloth over his belly. The knowledge that they’d be meeting their child so soon was a balm for the aches and pains of late pregnancy. Against his hand, the baby shifted a little, and Sherlock rubbed the spot as he rinsed himself off. Though bathing was getting cumbersome as of late, with so much in the way of his ability to bend, the Omega relished the relief that the hot water brought him. 

All too soon, however, the water started to run a little colder, and Sherlock turned off the water lest his toasty haven become an ice bath. “Alright, then, little one,” he murmured, using the wall to brace himself as he stepped out of the shower tub. “Get all your kicking out now, Daddy needs to sleep.” 

Towel wrapped around his head, Sherlock slung another low on his waist, holding it in place with one hand as he padded back to the bedroom. John was already in bed, re-reading a pregnancy book they’d gotten at Sherlock’s baby shower. “Learning anything new this time around?” Sherlock asked, unwrapping the towel from his curls and drying his hair a little further before tossing it away. He tugged on a comfortable nursing bra, suitable enough for sleep, and started searching for clean sleep clothes. 

“Nothing earth-shattering,” John replied, closing the book and setting it on the bedside table to watch Sherlock instead. The sight of his mate so heavy with their child was one that made John’s chest blossom with love, but there were certain other elements of the pregnancy that made certain other parts of John’s body blossom as well. 

Sherlock nodded and struggled into a pair of pants, trying to pull them up to a decent state but sighing in defeat when they snapped back down to rest under his belly. His sleep trousers met the same fate, but Sherlock fussed with the waistband nevertheless. “I realise that my uterus does indeed start this low down in my body but I never imagined its occupation would have such detrimental effects to the functionality of my clothing,” he griped, rolling the waistband over so the clothing had a better chance of staying up. 

“Well, baby’s getting to be rather low in there, too. Think it’s starting to drop?” John asked, unashamedly ogling Sherlock’s belly as the Omega got dressed for bed. 

“Maybe,” came the reply. “If it is, it’s taking its time. I haven’t felt any sudden change like the books said I might.” Sherlock made his way over to the bed, climbing in with a grunt and a sigh. “So, probably a few days yet, at least. Might not come early after all.” 

“Every pregnancy is different,” John reasoned, rolling onto his side and laying his left hand on Sherlock’s belly, rubbing slowly. His fingers traced over the stretch marks that decorated Sherlock’s skin, and that certain part of John’s body continued to blossom as he took inventory of several new lines that riddled the front of Sherlock’s belly. 

“You’re not very subtle about it,” Sherlock said after a few long moments of silence. John jerked a little and looked up to meet Sherlock’s gaze, grinning entirely un-subtly. “You could find something else to do other than celebrate the ruin of my body.” 

John chuckled and kept tracing those lines. “You know they’ll probably fade after you have the baby,” he said, but it was a weak argument at best. “And furthermore, you know exactly why I like them the way I do.” 

Sherlock sighed, but he was at least smiling, so John took it as a good sign. “So what do you say?” John continued, propping himself up a little and waggling his eyebrows. 

“Oh, fine,” Sherlock groaned. “Go ahead, if you must. I still don’t see the appeal, myself, but the least I can do is lie back and think of England while you get off to my stretch marks.” 

John gave a shout of triumph and vaulted across the bed for the bottle of lubricant stashed in the bedside table. “You okay on your back?” he asked, a little flush coloring his cheeks. 

“Give me some pillows and then I will be,” Sherlock replied, reaching across for one of John’s soft pillows to stuff behind his back. John aided in his efforts until Sherlock was duly propped and cushioned, and then the Alpha settled between Sherlock’s legs, rubbing both hands over his swollen, full belly. “You’re aware I’m still wearing my sleep clothes?” Sherlock asked, reaching down to snap the waistband of his pants in demonstration. 

“Yeah, obviously. I might be aroused but I’m not blind,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I just like this part, too. Seeing how low your clothes have to settle to accommodate the bump.” He smiled and ran his hands over the low curve, teasing below Sherlock’s waistband with the tips of his fingers. 

“You find the oddest parts of this pregnancy arousing.” Sherlock inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath, shaking his head at John in mixed parts awe and confusion. 

“Yeah, well. Most people don’t have a gunshot wound kink like you do, so I’m not sure you have much room to talk.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, but a flush rose to his cheeks despite his nonchalance. “They also don’t take samples of pubic hair to catalogue - what, hair changes based on how often we have sex? Yeah, so I think I’m allowed to like a few weird things about you being pregnant, you prat.” John poked Sherlock’s lower belly with an impish grin. 

“You could at least like them a little faster,” Sherlock griped, pushing impatiently at his bottoms. “I know you like it like this, but I can’t stay laid back for long. Hurts my back.” 

“I know, love,” John said, a hint of apology creeping into his tone. “I’ll get a move-on. Don’t want you to cramp up on me.” He helped Sherlock out of his bottoms and pants, and as soon as the clothes were out of the way, he popped the flip-open top on the bottle of lube and slicked his fingers. “Um, since I’m busy down here...would you mind, erm, doing the...other thing?” he asked, ducking his head a little as his cheeks went red. 

Sherlock was already busy undoing the clasps on his bra, pulling the fabric away to reveal his breasts, which were riddled with stretch marks as well. He winced and rubbed at one breast, massaging at the ache which had set in a few days ago. “As long as I can reach the lotion,” he answered, rolling a little off to his right to grab the bottle next to the lamp. John waited to start his preparations until Sherlock was settled back in, and started to press at Sherlock’s entrance rhythmically as the Omega poured lotion into his hands. 

Sherlock hummed contentedly as John started to press at his hole, begging entrance in that teasing way John had perfected. He felt his body relent to the pressure and cooed a little when John’s fingertips slid in. “I don’t want to get too messy,” he reminded John as he started to rub the lotion onto his chest. “I just took a shower.” 

“I know. If I get you too mussed, I’ll clean you after, promise.” John’s fingers pressed in a little deeper, stretching Sherlock’s hole with a pleasant but not overwhelming burn. “Yeah. There you go, love, just like that. Do they hurt?” he asked, eyes flicking upward to watch Sherlock work the lotion into the tight skin of his breasts. 

“They don’t hurt so much as ache,” Sherlock replied, rubbing the lotion carefully into his tender, swollen skin. “They’re getting bigger, so. At least it makes sense.” John made a sympathetic face and kept working his fingers into Sherlock’s body, pleased that the Omega was able to take two right at the start. 

He added a bit more lubricant to ease his way, pressing in slowly until his knuckles brushed Sherlock’s perineum. “Good?” he asked, pausing for Sherlock’s nod of assent before starting to pump his fingers in and out. 

Sherlock squirmed a little to get more comfortable, drawing a little gasp from his throat when the movement made John’s fingers prod unexpectedly against his sweet spot. A little smile tipped up the corner of John’s mouth and he sought out that spot again, fingers brushing more softly over it and pulling a delightful shiver from Sherlock’s body. A sweet bouquet of pheromones started to rise from Sherlock’s skin, and John inhaled deeply. “God, you smell amazing. Going to make fun of me for liking that, too?” he jibed gently. 

“No, that one I understand from a biological standpoint,” Sherlock replied, just the smallest bit breathlessly. “Do you want me to do my stomach now?” His hands paused on his breasts, slick and shiny with lotion. 

“Um, sure. But...slow?” John asked, cocking his head a little and blushing further with residual embarrassment. 

“I wouldn’t dare deny you a show,” Sherlock said a little drily, but poured more lotion onto his hands and started to spread it around the stretched, taut skin of his belly. John’s cock perked up at the sight and the Alpha suppressed a full-body shiver as Sherlock’s long, pale fingers worked the lotion into his belly. Sherlock grinned and slowed his movements, smearing the lotion almost obscenely over his middle. 

John shook his head to clear the haze from his mind. He realized belatedly that his fingers had gone still inside Sherlock’s body the moment the lotion hit his belly, and he started up again, pumping in and out with one eye on his movements and the other on Sherlock’s. “You know, I think you might like this a little bit, too,” he said, his voice rough. 

Sherlock deigned not to reply, instead letting his head fall back as his hands roamed over his middle. John’s breath hitched when his mate’s fingers lingered on his navel, the nub so stretched it was almost flat now. As if in retaliation the Alpha slid in a third finger, making Sherlock arch his back and moan throatily. 

They played off of each other, then, John doing terribly lovely things with his fingers while Sherlock returned the favor. It wasn’t long before there was sweat beading on Sherlock’s brow and an impressive erection tenting John’s trousers, eager to sink inside Sherlock’s waiting body. 

“Alright,” John panted, sliding his fingers out and taking himself in hand with a groan. He shimmied out of his pants and flung them aside, stroking himself languidly. “You still okay like this? Or do you need to move?” He laid a shaking hand on Sherlock’s belly, rubbing over the lotion-slicked skin. 

“So long as you don’t take hours I’ll be fine,” Sherlock replied, letting his hands slide down to cup his belly tenderly. 

“Yeah. Won’t have to worry about that, I don’t think.” John coughed and moved into position, lifting Sherlock’s body a little so he could get the right angle. “Okay. God, you’re beautiful, love,” he murmured, ignoring his body’s desires for the moment so he could drink in the sight of his mate. 

Lying on his back like this, half in John’s lap and propped the rest of the way with cushions, Sherlock looked like the adonis of pregnancy, too sculpted and perfect to be anything other than an expectant god. Even the flush that now colored his cheeks and trailed down to his chest was artfully done, a wash of color over marble-pale skin. 

But the best part, the part that took Sherlock’s form from a simple sculpture to a Michelangelo carving, were the pale blue marks that crossed over his skin like rivers on a map, showing just how far his body had gone to grow their child. John’s heart had pounded in his chest the first time he saw one, the physical evidence of Sherlock’s body going beyond its natural limits to accommodate their baby. He’d treasured every one since, though Sherlock was indifferent to their appearance. Small ruins, he thought, but John disagreed. He had to. They were too symbolic, in both a romantic and arousing way. A body stretched to its limits, then forced past them. 

The man resting in John’s lap swatted absently at him, scowling through the haze of arousal that was writ on his face. “You can admire me when I’ve come and am on my side again,” he griped, and John laughed. 

“Alright, yeah. Come on, then.” With one final adjustment John slid into Sherlock’s waiting body, groaning as that tight heat pulled him in. He put his hands on Sherlock’s hips - his wide, loose hips, that swayed with every step the man took. John shuddered and pulled out with an effort, sliding back in again as he established a slow, rocking rhythm. 

This was John’s favorite part. The part where Sherlock’s feigned indifference dropped and revealed how truly fulfilled he felt, having John’s child. The way his hands moved over his belly wasn’t playacting for John’s sake, though he did appreciate it. Despite the aches and pains that were starting to take their toll on his body, it was plain to see that the man loved carrying John’s baby, loved being full and heavy with it, and loved that John loved him even more for it. 

John rocked into Sherlock’s body, pushing home with every slow, deep thrust and filling Sherlock in the way only he ever had. John’s hands stroked up his mate’s sides, the fullness of his belly brushing John’s arms as he rubbed tenderly. “Beautiful, beautiful,” he murmured, caressing his mate’s body. 

Sherlock’s noises of pleasure were the only answer John got, but they were the only response he needed. He followed Sherlock’s signals until he knew he was working Sherlock’s body perfectly, nudging over the sensitive seam of his womb on every inward thrust and dragging over his Gräfenberg spot on every withdrawal. Sherlock’s chest and belly were heaving with each indrawn breath. 

John looked up at last from where his hands roamed Sherlock’s middle, and a jolt ran down his spine as he locked eyes with Sherlock. Everything else fell away as they stared at each other, John’s movements making Sherlock’s body ripple with pleasure and Sherlock’s body clenching tight and hot around John. Sherlock jerked once, twice, and a third time before he gasped out John’s name and came, body growing even wetter around John and prick pulsing hot and slick against his belly. 

John rode out the waves of contractions that rolled through Sherlock’s body and as he felt them start to wane, he thrust deep into his mate’s channel, the head of his cock settling just over the seam of his womb as he came. Sherlock squirmed with oversensitivity and he clenched around John again, a second internal orgasm coming on the back of the first. His body milked John’s cock until the Alpha was weak with pleasure, shivering as Sherlock’s body eased the tight clench it held until he was able to slide out. 

He dragged his hands over the stretched skin of Sherlock’s belly slowly and lovingly, caressing Sherlock until his breathing had eased and he’d stopped shaking from the intensity of his second orgasm. John smiled and giggled breathlessly when Sherlock met his gaze, eyes half-lidded but still blown wide. “So lying back and thinking of England worked, mm?” he murmured, crawling up the bed and rolling Sherlock onto his side. 

“England was the last thing on my mind,” Sherlock replied, letting out a long breath and taking John’s hand to lace their fingers together. He pulled their joined hands to rest over his heart, tugging John to lie behind him for a little while. The Alpha happily complied, snugging himself up behind Sherlock’s body and sliding his other arm under Sherlock’s neck to comb through his still-damp hair. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this before,” John started, pressing a sweet kiss to the nape of Sherlock’s neck, “but you’re beautiful, full stop.” 

“Mm, you may have mentioned it once or twice.” Sherlock twisted his neck to kiss John’s wrist and then settled back in. 

“Have I? I was right, then. You’re beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.” John kissed the nape of his neck again, smiling. “Feeling okay?” 

“A bit sore, but no worse than usual. Tired, which is good, at least. Been a long time since you’ve made me come twice.” John heard the grin in his voice. 

“Ha, yeah.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “Wasn’t really meaning to, but it happened anyhow. Can’t say I regret it.” 

“Can’t say I do either,” Sherlock sighed. “You know, I really am ready to be done being pregnant. I love it, but I’m just ready to be done. Hear that, little one?” he murmured, releasing John’s hand so he could stroke his belly. “You can come out. Daddy’s ready for you.” 

John’s hand slid down to meet Sherlock’s. “We both are,” he said softly. “I love you, Sherlock. Get some sleep. I’ll clean you up and then I’ll join you, okay?” 

Sherlock nodded, and before John even had a chance to say goodnight, the Omega had already drifted off. John smiled and decided he could stay here, just a bit longer. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey. Feeling any better, love?” John murmured, stepping into the dimly-lit bedroom and sinking down onto the mattress next to Sherlock. His mate had gone back to bed shortly after breakfast, complaining of a backache, which was unfortunately all too common the longer his pregnancy went on. 

Under the sheets, Sherlock shifted. “Not really,” came the mumbled reply. “Still hurts. I have a feeling it’s not going to go away by just laying down.” 

John made a sympathetic noise and laid his hand on Sherlock’s hip, rubbing gently. “Yeah, I’m not surprised.” The bigger the baby grew, the more strain it put on Sherlock’s body, and it had gotten to the point where no amount of hot showers, heating pads, or back rubs would soothe the pain Sherlock was in. “What do you want to do?” he asked quietly. 

“Just stay here. It’s not making it worse, at least. Small blessings.” Sherlock tipped his head up to meet John’s gaze. “You don’t need to stay here with me. I’ll be fine.” 

John shook his head and offered up a small smile. “No, love. I’ve finished getting lunch going, so I’m staying in here with you. No reason for us both to be alone.” He took Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it. “Now, here. Let me have a word of reason with that baby.” 

Sherlock gave a weak grin in reply, letting John help him roll onto his back and pushing the sheets down over his sizeable bump. He slid his hand down to the bottom of his belly, the motion loving and practiced. John smiled at the action and leaned over, his chest warm with love knowing that, even though the discomfort of late pregnancy, Sherlock still adored their child. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s stretched, flattened navel, and smoothed his hand over the striped, stretch-marked skin of his belly. “Alright, then, little one. I think it’s time you decide to meet us. Daddy’s getting a bit sore hauling you around, and you could go easy on him.” 

“I can’t say I wouldn’t appreciate a timely exeunt,” Sherlock agreed, and drew in a shallow breath. “I think it will be soon, though. It’s not moving much.” He slouched a little and rubbed the top of his belly. 

“I hope, for your sake, it is soon.” John pressed one last kiss to Sherlock’s belly and then pulled the sheet back up over top of it, helping his mate roll over onto his side. He crawled into bed, sliding under the sheets and taking Sherlock’s hand. 

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and curled up again, rubbing his lower back. “Me, too.” 

\---------

John must have dozed off, because he woke up to the feeling of Sherlock shifting on the opposite side of the bed. “You okay?” he asked blearily, blinking and squinting until Sherlock came into focus. 

“No. Well, yes. Back aches. Need a pee. I’ll be back.” The Omega hauled himself out of bed before John had the chance to help him. 

John waited for Sherlock to come back to bed, but after a few long minutes with no sign of reappearance, he began to grow a little concerned. He slid out of bed and headed toward the en-suite, knocking quietly. “Hey. You alright in there?” 

The answering groan made John’s heart clench. He opened the door and his eyes went wide when he caught sight of Sherlock curled up on top of the toilet, breathing heavily. “Sherlock?” he asked, stepping through the door and crouching down next to him. 

“I had - a contraction when I came in, and my spine is killing me. I can’t get up - but I didn’t want to bother you.” He looked at John a little helplessly. 

“Oh, love. Here, let me help you.” Carefully, John lifted Sherlock to stand, frowning sympathetically when Sherlock leaned heavily against him. “Poor thing. You said it was a contraction? You’re sure?” he asked, pulling Sherlock’s sleep trousers back up and smoothing his hands over his hips. 

“I had a few others while I was in bed. Wanted to let you sleep, so I was going to wait a little while longer.” Sherlock buried his face in the curve of John’s neck, trembling a little as he leaned on him. 

John nodded and stroked the line of Sherlock’s spine. “You didn’t need to. We’ve been waiting for this day for weeks. Come on, let’s get you comfortable.” Sherlock nodded and followed John out of the bathroom, sinking back onto the bed with a grunt. 

“I’m not sure exactly how comfortable I can get, now,” Sherlock sighed, frowning as he stuffed pillows around himself. 

“Well, for a given value of comfortable, then. We’ll do our best.” John draped the sheets back over top of his mate, and they both settled in and waited. 

John’s chest went tight every time Sherlock tensed. His mate was riding out each contraction with nothing more than a tight expression and a fist clenched in John’s pillow. After a long spasm, Sherlock flung out a hand for John and pulled it to his chest, whining quietly as the pain ebbed. “It hurts,” he grunted, cracking one eye open and staring up at John. 

The Alpha gave Sherlock a sympathetic grimace. “It’s not exactly supposed to feel good,” he sighed. “But still, I’m sorry. Do you want to try a painkiller? See if that helps a little?” To his surprise, Sherlock nodded, releasing his hand and curling up a little more. John nodded and slid off the bed, trotting into the en-suite to shake two paracetamol into his hand. Running a glass of water, he returned to Sherlock’s side, helping the aching Omega sit up to swallow the tablets. 

Instead of curling up on his side again, Sherlock reached out for John, who automatically wrapped his arms around his mate and held him close. He let out a little gasping sob and clung to John, and John murmured quiet words to him, doing what he could to comfort his partner. 

A few hours had passed since John had found Sherlock in the bathroom, and Sherlock had progressed to the point that he was now making quiet noises during each contraction. They were out on the sofa, trying to occupy themselves by watching television, though neither of them had enough focus to even keep track of what was happening on-screen. John’s warm palm slid back and forth over Sherlock’s lower back, which seemed to tremble with tension every time a contraction rolled through his belly. Sherlock leaned heavily against John, rubbing his belly with closed eyes and a furrowed brow. 

A hard contraction rippled through Sherlock’s belly and he yelped, arching his back and sliding his hips forward as if to escape the pain. “Ow, ow, ow,” he chanted, a fat tear rolling down his cheek as he squirmed through the discomfort. 

John slid onto the floor and held Sherlock’s thighs, massaging lightly and holding Sherlock in place a little. “It’s okay, it’s okay, just try and breathe, love, you can do it,” he murmured, hand sliding up to caress the curve of Sherlock’s belly as it heaved under his hand. “That’s it, baby’s moving down, just try and breathe. Good man, that’s a good man.” 

“It _hurts_ ,” Sherlock bit out, giving one last futile squirm before gasping in a lungful of air and letting it out on a wheeze. “They keep - pushing it down, and I’m not open enough, and it’s _awful._ ” 

“I know, love. Do you want to take a shower, see if it’ll relax your back a little bit?” he asked, rubbing Sherlock’s splayed knees. 

“Yes, fine.” Sherlock nodded tightly. “Help me up?” he asked, stretching out his arms and allowing John to pull him to his feet. With a steadying hand, John followed Sherlock to the bathroom, and undressed his mate with tender hands. 

John caught a glimpse of Sherlock in the mirror, and his heart bloomed with warmth. “I know you think you look terrible, but god, Sherlock,” he sighed, sidling up behind his Omega and wrapping his arms around him to cup his belly. “You’re beautiful like this. I’m sorry it hurts you like it does, but what you’re doing is amazing and you’re so bloody gorgeous doing it.” He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lean shoulder. 

“My body is a ruin,” Sherlock replied drily, but there was no edge to his voice. “Beautiful to some, perhaps, but a wreck compared to what it used to be.” 

John shrugged and caressed Sherlock’s middle with a loving hand before moving to turn on the shower. “You’ll heal. Bounce back. And you’ll be all the more incredible for it. But, for the record, I love you like this, too. Taking such good care of our baby.” He smiled and helped Sherlock into the shower. 

Sherlock hummed and then sighed, stepping under the hot spray and letting out a long, low moan as the hot water cascaded down his aching back. “I’ll be glad to have it out at last. Be able to move independently again. And to not hurt like hell 24 hours a day, seven days a week.” He grunted and leaned forward a little, pressing his hands to what was left of his waist and trying to stretch the tense muscles in his lower back. “Of course, then comes the real adventure.” 

John exhaled a short breath through his nose, almost but not quite a laugh. “Yeah, I know. But this is the most painful part almost over, at least. You’re doing really well, you know.” 

“I’m not sure how accurately we can judge that.” Sherlock straightened up again. “We won’t know how well I’m doing until I’m done, and by then it’ll hardly matter.” 

John scoffed. “Not true. Nothing’s gone wrong so far, and I’d say that’s a pretty good indicator.” Sherlock grunted and started shampooing his hair, humming a little as he partook in one of the simpler pleasures of life. 

His small luxury was interrupted, however, by a contraction that caught him off guard. Eyes squeezed shut against the threat of soap he leaned against the wall, gripping the shower bar and moaning loudly. “Oooooh, ooooooh - mmmh, oooooh...” The sound echoed off the shower walls. 

John wrung his hands anxiously from his perch on the closed toilet seat. There wasn’t anything he could do here, no way he could help at all until the baby was well and truly coming. “Good man,” he said quietly, his words drowned out by the patter of the shower spray. 

Gradually the noises died down and Sherlock resumed his shower. John’s heart calmed to a slightly less heart-attack pace. Eventually, the shower was turned off, and John broke out of his daze to help Sherlock climb out and dry off. As he was handing Sherlock a towel for his hair, and using another to dry his mate’s body, he stopped short. “Sherlock,” he said quietly, and Sherlock looked down to where John was knelt in front of him. 

“Not admiring the stretch marks again,” Sherlock sighed, but John shook his head. 

“No. Not that at all - though they are magnificent.” Sherlock huffed. “No, love - but, look, it’s dropped. It’s really low, look at it.” 

Sherlock glanced down and, indeed, either before or during his shower the baby had shifted lower and lower until he was nearly oblong. Taking stock of his body, he felt a new, strange stretch - the feeling he now recognized as that of the baby’s new position, pulling at muscles that previously had not been abused. “Well, that’s good, at least,” he murmured, prodding at his belly. “Means it’s a bit closer.” 

“Yeah,” John replied, sounding a bit breathless but happy. Sherlock smiled warmly, and kept drying himself off. John eventually picked his towel up again and helped, but not before pressing several kisses to Sherlock’s belly. 

John placed a pillow on Sherlock’s chair before Sherlock sat down, knowing he wouldn’t want to sit for long, cushion or not. The stew he’d set up earlier was ready for eating, and John dished up two small bowls in the hopes that Sherlock would at least agree to eat something. John was almost too nervous to eat at all. 

The Omega, however, dug into his meal, the baby’s position allowing him to eat a full meal for the first time in weeks, if not months. He grumbled when John cautioned him to slow down lest he make himself nauseous, but conceded to a slower pace nevertheless. “As big as it seems to be, I’ll need all my energy to push it out,” he shrugged, spooning up more of the hearty stew. 

John couldn’t argue with that, and allowed Sherlock to have another small portion when he’d finished off the first. “No more, or you might actually make yourself sick,” he warned, and Sherlock agreed reluctantly. 

The contractions Sherlock had been experiencing were now coming closer together, moving from about twenty minutes apart down to just over six. They’d long ago given up watching television, and it now droned on in the background as Sherlock and John made slow laps around the flat. Sherlock would occasionally stop and shiver and moan through a spasm, with John doing all he could to soothe the aching muscles that tensed and pulled painfully at his mate’s body. 

When Sherlock asked him to, John helped him out of his pyjamas and into his blue robe. Clothes were a nuisance as they rubbed and pulled and bunched, and only the loose silk was tolerable against Sherlock’s frayed nerves. They left the garment untied, draped over Sherlock’s shoulders and hanging open as if framing his labouring form. As much as it hurt John to see his mate in such pain, he admired Sherlock all the same. Working so hard to bear their child and looking ethereally beautiful whilst doing it. 

As the contractions edged closer to five minutes apart, Sherlock felt the baby moving down even further. Eyes rimmed red, he took John’s hand and pressed it low, low on his belly, and John could only feel the curve of a spine, the bulge of a shoulder - the baby’s head had moved into position, resting on the ridge of Sherlock’s dilating cervix and settling into the bowl of his hips. “Low,” Sherlock intoned, leaning against John and shaking with exhaustion. 

“Yeah, I know,” John murmured, rubbing the spot firmly and holding onto Sherlock. “You’re getting close, love. Baby’s so close to meeting us, just hang in there.” Sherlock nodded wordlessly and his shaking intensified as he struggled through another contraction, leaning hard against John and keening loudly. 

Suddenly, things went quiet. Sherlock kept his eyes closed and held onto John tightly, shivering through each contraction but barely making more than a quiet gasp every now and again. John recognized this for what it was - transition. It was time. 

The pains were coming nearly on top of each other as John settled Sherlock on his knees, cushioned by pillows with towels underneath. He was just tossing aside Sherlock’s robe, leaving him nude and heaving, when a startled cry echoed through the living room. A small flood was pouring from Sherlock’s body, soaking the towels, and Sherlock was moaning and reaching out for John. “Need to push,” he gasped, gripping John’s shoulders tight enough to leave bruises. 

“Yeah, alright,” John replied, nerves tightening his throat. “If you’re ready, do it. Baby’s so close, Sherlock.” He petted the damp hairs at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, stroking down the line of his back. 

The noises came back louder than before as Sherlock stopped fighting his body’s instincts and started to work with them instead. Loud, wordless wails bounced off the walls as the Omega bore down and brought their child ever closer to crowning. John let Sherlock brace himself on John’s shoulders, mindless of the battle scar that ached under the pressure of Sherlock’s hands. What the man was going through now was worse than any wound John had ever incurred. 

From his position in front of Sherlock, he couldn’t see anything other than his heaving chest and swollen belly hanging heavy and full - ripe with their child. Through the shouts and cries came a new sound - Sherlock’s voice, rough and strained. “Behind,” he grated. “Coming. Cr-crowning.” 

John drew in a shuddering breath and nodded, pressing a fleeting kiss to Sherlock’s cheekbone and dragging the coffee table in front of him as a stand-in for John’s form. As much as Sherlock needed him there, their baby needed him now - ready to bring its new life safely into their arms. 

He skidded across the carpet on his knees and let out a choked noise as he caught sight of the place between Sherlock’s legs - skin stretched white and thin around an emerging head, covered in slick black hair. John knelt between Sherlock’s spread legs and ran shaking hands down his trembling thighs before speaking. “It’s got your hair,” he breathed, and Sherlock let out a wet laugh. 

“’S why Daddy had so much heartburn,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I - nnnnn, aaah!” Whatever he had meant to say was torn from his throat and replaced with grunts of effort, and John watched in fascination as millimeter by millimeter, their baby’s head emerged. 

Sherlock’s body yawned wide and parted to allow their baby’s head to come through. John reached up with trembling hands to cup the delicate skull, cradling it carefully as Sherlock labored to deliver the child into the world. With the tail end of a contraction came the rest of the baby’s head, all at once, and John was blinking away tears as he supported it. The baby was face-up, with red skin and chubby cheeks, and it was all John could do to keep from bursting into shaky sobs. “G-got your hair,” he repeated, swallowing hard. “And y-your nose. Oh, god-“ He pitched forward and laid his forehead against Sherlock’s sweaty back, shaking as he regained his composure. 

He heard and felt Sherlock’s quiet laughter. “Hold it together, will you?” the Omega rumbled, head clearing as the end of his task approached. “Gonna - give another…” The words got pinched off in his throat as he bore down again, shaking uncontrollably as the force of the contraction and his added strength brought their baby’s shoulders forth. 

John sniffled and nodded as he drew back, watching in awe as Sherlock’s mighty push delivered the baby’s shoulders. There was a pause, with the baby’s arms tight against its body, wedged into Sherlock’s birth canal and stretching him impossibly wide, and then Sherlock bore down again and suddenly John was holding a baby in his hands - a wailing, chubby, red-streaked baby. _Their baby._

“Shit,” John whispered, frozen with this child in his arms and tears rolling down his cheeks. “Shit, oh shit. Sherlock -“ 

“Give her here,” Sherlock replied, holding out his arms, and oh _god,_ it _was_ a girl, they had a daughter, _he_ had a daughter! 

John laid the baby into Sherlock’s waiting arms, and saw with a bit of relief that Sherlock was crying, too. The baby’s cries were loud and rough but they sounded beautiful to John, and he drank in the sight of his newborn daughter with awe. “Sh-she’s, oh, she’s…” 

“Perfect,” Sherlock said thickly, sinking down and leaning against the coffee table as he cradled the wailing baby. He reached blindly for his discarded robe and used the sleeve to clean the blood and fluids from her face, her tiny lungs filling the room with loud cries. “Oh, my baby. My girl. We-“ He looked up at John, choking on the words. “Our _daughter._ ” 

John swiped at his eyes and nodded, fighting to keep his trembling lips under control and wresting them into a smile. “Uh-huh.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the baby in Sherlock’s arms, purple and covered in streaks of vernix and clear goo. She was _beautiful._

On stiff knees, John crawled over to settle next to Sherlock, leaning his head against his mate’s shoulder and watching as their daughter quieted in Sherlock’s arms. He held her against his chest so naturally, as if he’d been holding babies all his life. Though his breasts were swollen and tender they had not yet yielded milk, so the little girl’s head simply rested against one breast and mouthed at it idly. As she quieted, the only noises in the room were John and Sherlock’s wet breaths and the sounds of John pressing kisses to Sherlock’s brow and cheek. 

Eventually, John moved between Sherlock’s legs again to catch and dispose of the afterbirth. The last contractions rolled through Sherlock’s body as if they were echoes of their predecessors, and soon even those died off. 

John helped Sherlock move to the bedroom. The baby was cleaned with a soft cloth and clad in a nappy, and she now rested peacefully against Sherlock’s chest, wrapped in a blue blanket. Her breaths were easy and regular, and her little hands curled and uncurled in her sleep. 

Sherlock broke the silence first. “She did this inside me, too,” he murmured. “I could feel it. Her little hands moving. She was inside me only an hour ago.” He shook his head in disbelief. 

“And now she’s here,” John replied, voice soft. He climbed onto the bed next to Sherlock and adjusted the sheet that covered his mate’s legs and still-swollen belly. “And we know she’s a she, and she’s healthy and perfect.” He brushed a kiss to Sherlock’s bony shoulder. 

“She needs a name,” Sherlock said, and John nodded in agreement. “I want to name her after your mother.” 

John’s eyes flickered to Sherlock’s. “After my…?” Sherlock nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and John nodded curtly and swallowed hard. Giving his mother a namesake was a wish he’d never voiced, but whether Sherlock knew that or had thought of it himself, John wanted to do it either way. “Well. Katharine is a good, strong name…but Mum always went by Katie.” 

“Then she’ll go by Katie, too,” Sherlock said with a firm nod. 

John’s eyes roved to the baby - Katie’s - face, still in awe of what a perfect blend of her parents she’d turned out to be. Sherlock’s dark hair in wisps on her head, Sherlock’s nose - John’s chin, from what he could tell, and god he hoped she’d have Sherlock’s elegant hands. He watched as her fist straightened out again and rested, palm-down, on Sherlock’s chest, and he fought off another wave of emotion. “Thank you,” he breathed, one shaking hand moving to rest on Katie’s back. 

“You’re welcome.” Sherlock shifted the baby slightly, and she woke, stirring in his arms. “It’s your turn, I think.” Ignoring John’s soft protests, he moved the baby girl into John’s arms, sinking back against the pillows as the tiny burden settled into John’s hold. 

Her eyes blinked open slowly for the first time since her birth. Tears filled John’s eyes as he saw echoes of his mother’s gaze stare back at him, cerulean-blue eyes with long, delicate lashes blinking slowly before drifting closed again. John smiled, a tear trailing down his cheek, and the sun shining through the bay window felt like a caress from someone long-lost and much-loved. “Hello, Katie,” John said. 

 


End file.
